


May All Your Demons Slumber

by bastardbones



Category: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Killing Game (Dangan Ronpa), Anal Sex, Arguing, Cheating, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drinking, Flashbacks, Homophobia, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Nihilism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slurs, Smoking, Taka Has Tourette's, Tourette's Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25292437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastardbones/pseuds/bastardbones
Summary: Mondo is a jailbird, his brother is dead, and Kiyotaka has seemingly moved on without him.
Relationships: Ishimaru Kiyotaka/Oowada Mondo, Owada Daiya & Owada Mondo
Comments: 16
Kudos: 159





	May All Your Demons Slumber

**Author's Note:**

> There's not enough tragic bullshit with these two. Maybe there is, but not the kind I want. 
> 
> Additional warning for the f-slur and Mondo's attitude problem.

01.

As any man would, Mondo Oowada spends his first hour of freedom in a budget hotel, with a cigarette in his mouth and fist around his dick, ejaculating for the first time in nearly two years.

Prison is a waiting game. It's also a game with a hundred rules and regulations. For years, he woke at dawn, chewed standard meals, and followed commands. He wasn't sure if he felt like a dog or just a human training to be one. If he was a dog, prison may have been a more lenient experience - at least dogs could piss on the carpet and get away with it, sometimes. Mondo got away with nothing. Every moment under constant surveillance, no privacy, no peace of mind. They took his clothes, they cut his hair, buzzed him clean, made him tidy, made him palatable. There was no individuality, nothing to distinguish him among the other sorry bastards that got caught. Hell, this wasn't even the first time he got caught. Outwardly, he obeyed the order. Inwardly, he counted the days and seethed in his cell. If prison was meant to rehabilitate him, then he had failed to be rehabilitated. 

He wipes his hand on an overused rag before tossing it in the corner. It lands gracelessly, heavy with sweat and cum.

-01.

When Mondo was nine, his brother had given him a magazine with a motorcycle on the cover. Inside were pages upon pages of beautifully photographed bikes he could only dream of owning. Every make and model was endless eye candy for a kid like him. He clipped about a dozen of those pictures and tacked them to his wall. The models in the magazine, the nameless men in leather, didn't go unappreciated, either. Looking at them made his pants feel tight. He didn't understand what that meant. 

"What's a faggot?" he asked his big brother, who choked on his drink, unprepared for the question. Mondo heard it at school sometimes, but mostly at home, as he eavesdropped on the older boys that came by. Daiya and his friends were always saying it, spitting it between their teeth, like it was a bad word, or an ugly word, or just a word for a bad, ugly thing. Daiya, as charismatic as ever, laughed off the innocence of his little brother's inquiry.

"Don't worry about it, little man." 

Mondo's first orgasm was achieved with a few sloppy tugs, all while clutching a photograph from that same magazine. He slid that picture under his pillow for the longest time, tucked it away like an afterthought. It wasn't a secret yet. He just liked the man in the photo. His dark hair and sharp face were enticing. Mondo wasn't sure if he simply wanted to be him, or... he just wasn't sure. He wasn't sure what else to think. 

He was ten when Daiya caught him masturbating with the photo in his hand. When Mondo thinks of his brother now, he recalls his expression from that day the clearest, rivaled only by the look on his mangled face after the accident. His brother has been dead for years and these are the awful moments his brain has clung to. Misfortune is the best remembered. 

Daiya loved him. His love was indisputable. Daiya never acknowledged what he had witnessed, though. When his friends said that word, Daiya withdrew or changed the topic, and that's when Mondo finally knew. His brother did his best to spare his feelings, he didn't harp on him about girls or sex, or the things they should have talked about as Mondo entered puberty, and that made it worse. 

He kissed girls, he watched girl-on-girl porn, he hung a poster of a naked girl on his ceiling. Before the first semester of high school ended, he had finger banged half the girls on the swim team and hated every moment of it. He tried not to glance at the guys in the locker room, worried a stray look would expose him, convinced he was on the verge of discovery. In reality, there was no such danger. Word around school was that Mondo Oowada was the guy to have a good time with. The girls from broken homes flocked for seconds and the boys joined him for a smoke on the roof. The thrill he got from lighting a cute boy’s cigarette, that small intimacy, would be enough to satisfy him for days. He would fantasize, imagine what it would be like to blow smoke into their mouths and share a nicotine kiss. 

Daiya said nothing when Mondo brought The Boy home. Well, maybe he said a few things. Maybe he said _hi_. Maybe he asked _who's your friend?_ with the barest of interest, before twirling his keys and departing. The Boy had fidgeted nervously as he was led to the couch. They were supposed to be studying for the Friday exam, but Mondo had never intended to prepare for it. It was the easiest way to grab The Boy's attention and sure enough, he snatched the bait. 

The Boy was good, he was helpful, but most of all he was lonely. Academically he was gifted, but socially, not so much. Mondo had hated him for ruining the curve on a math test, then pitied him for sitting alone at lunch. On impulse, Mondo invited him to go smoke on the roof, but The Boy had declined, because _something-something_ the rules. Mondo dragged his argumentative ass up there, anyway. The Boy didn't have the energy to be mad anymore as they reached the top. The sky was beautiful. The Boy was beautiful. 

On the couch, when Mondo tried kissing him, The Boy pulled away, receded into the couch, laughed an anxious laugh. He thought it was a joke, but not a good one. He thought Mondo knew his secret and was trying to hurt him with it. He cried right there, wedged between a hard cushion and a soft body. He spasmed with a twitch of the face, jerked his neck with involuntary movement. Mondo tried kissing his classmate again and this time it was something. It was wet and slow and salty. It was the first time either of them kissed another boy.

They kissed more after that. Then more. The Boy slept over a lot and Daiya seemed to take an oath of silence. Mondo wanted to shake his brother by the shoulders, for a word, for a comment, anything. Where was the reaction? How long could the rubber band stretch before it snapped in his face? 

If it snapped, it would sound like this: There is something living inside of him and he cannot escape it. It is parasitic in nature, feeding from the marrow of his bones, destroying the structural integrity of his body. It lives where all the bad stuff lives. It lives where Daiya's brain hit the concrete, like the slime that follows a slug or the debris that follows a plane crash. It lives where his dead brother's shocked, sullen silence lives, across from the spot he kissed the crying boy on the couch. It lives inside the ink of the handsome man in the cum-stained magazine.

02.

He saunters into the bathroom, cranks the water to the hottest setting, and stands beneath the spray until the temperature cools. He dries himself with a towel then drags his hand across the foggy mirror. It's hard not to stare. The length of his hair is so frustratingly short and he pulls at it as though it will encourage growth. He looks much older without the wild, bleached pompadour. He looks like Daiya with his black hair and black eyes. 

The only pair of clothes he owns are the clothes he was arrested in; a leather jacket and pair of torn jeans. He pops the collar, then flips it down. He can't decide. 

The bar is a short walk. There are dozens of bars in Shinjuku. He could weasel his way into a club instead, get shit-faced then grind against a stranger, but he won't, not tonight. His boots kick up day old rainwater as he passes an array of shops, all clustered into the narrow alley that is _Memory Lane._ It's a hub of food, and drinks, and people, and Mondo couldn't care less about the odd looks he receives. Most foreigners pay him no mind, progressive Americans that rarely think twice of deviancy; it's the locals that give him the stink eye. He looks like a punk -- he is a punk. There's a tattoo on his throat and polite society scowls at the sight.

He sits at a small bar that hangs into the walk path, no larger than a food truck, unable to seat more than four at once. The bartender perks up and says a word of greeting. Mondo is the only patron, he orders a shot of whiskey because it's cheap and he wants to be drunk five minutes ago. It burns on the way down, so he scrunches his nose and ignores the awful urge to gag. He forgot how foul whiskey could be.

Two women pass him from behind, giggling as they go, until they stumble back to ask for a cigarette. They're drunk and clearly having a good time so it's hard to refuse them. They each take one from his glossy new pack and fumble with an empty lighter until he offers his own. 

"Omigod," one of them squeals with drunken splendor. "You're _sooo_ sweet! Are you in a gang?"

"Not anymore," he shrugs then pockets his lighter.

"Come with us!" the other is begging. She's squeezing his bicep through his jacket and breathing down his neck. "We like you."

He refuses their offer and they whine like sad puppy dogs. They thank him for the cigarettes then continue on their merry way, young, beautiful, and unbothered by rejection. 

It's dark, but it's still early. He takes his time sipping through the last of his drink, then orders another. It finally hits him and he reckons the empty stomach helps. The foot traffic from behind him sounds loud and bouncy and he tries focusing on that. He loosens his shoulders and let's his head swim, trying not to think about tomorrow, or about his financial situation, about how he's virtually homeless. Members of his old gang, Daiya's old friends, had done right by him in that regard. They had booked that hotel room for a week and given him enough money for food. It was more pity than kindness, a vow they long ago made to Daiya, their real leader, to look after reckless little Mondo. It was wearing thin, though. Crazy Diamond had disbanded after Mondo's most recent stint in the big house and loyalty to a dead man is only as fresh as the corpse.

Something touches him. It's a few people squeezing through the congestion of the alleyway and it grates on Mondo's nerves, fast. He's a lot more tolerant of drunk girls than graceless pedestrians. He barks out in annoyance.

"Yo," he warns, "watch where you're fuckin' going."

Someone calls him an asshole and the clot finally disperses. Then it's quiet. Then a voice.

"Mondo."

He hears it, but it doesn't register. He turns to look behind him. He looks without looking then does the fastest double take of his life. He feels sober. 

"Holy shit," he says.

-02.

The Boy had never been his boyfriend. It never seemed like an option. 

Mondo was almost orphaned as a child, but Daiya managed to pull an incredible stunt in keeping him. Mondo didn't remember Mom and Dad, because Daiya _was_ Mom and Dad. He was Mom for dropping him off at school and he was Dad for allowing late night television. Their home was unconventional, it was filled with rebellious teens that smelt like booze and oil and they gathered around a bag of take-out for dinner. His upbringing wasn't bad, but it lacked structure, it thrived on spontaneity and indulgence and Daiya failed to be disciplinary. 

The Boy, on the other hand, knew nothing but discipline. Never late, always tidy, perfect scores in every subject. His family had a father and a mother, the way a family was supposed to. It seemed suffocating. The Boy was an overachiever and his successes earned him less than a pat on the head. Nothing was enough. Whether his family had set an impossible standard, or The Boy implemented it himself, Mondo never knew. They were just so indifferent. Not cold or cruel, just unresponsive the way Daiya was unresponsive about the box of condoms in the trash can.

They went unused, because The Boy was too scared to go that far. To him, it was like the dropping of the guillotine, it was absolute, the point of no return. It betrayed his storyline. The Boy wanted to graduate, work in politics, get married, have kids. Mondo only knew what he himself wanted two minutes at a time. Mondo wondered if he was just an obstacle in The Boy's narrative, a demon for him to overcome before emerging victorious, having battled the sick perversion of homosexuality. Straight society would gladly welcome him. He was a star example of what a successful young man ought to be. 

Mondo felt guilty.

When The Boy curled up next to him at night, the guilt disappeared. He was indulgent and no girl could ever satisfy him. He touched and fondled and marked every place he could get away with. Mondo knew it couldn't last forever. They were bound to be discovered, exposed to the entire school, ostracized by their peers. They anticipated it, but as graduation grew closer, as graduation passed, they remained unscathed. They had survived high school without a scandal. They had been spared.

Then Daiya died.

He stopped eating. Each time he blinked he saw his brother's dead face. The image haunted his dreams, he woke up sweating, screaming, and The Boy wiped his head with a cold cloth. _Something-something_ PTSD. _Something-something_ survivor's guilt. Mondo didn't want medication, he didn't want therapy, he just wanted a way to turn back time, to undo his mistake, to not be so goddamn stupid.

He gets into a stupid fight with a rival gang. Some stupid idiot calls him a faggot. They don't even realize what they've done and it's just so stupid. Years of pent up rage, years of confusing boners and weekend blowjobs and Mondo's sight turns red. He smashes every tooth in that idiot's mouth. He douses their bike in lighter fluid and the goddamn thing couldn't burn fast enough. The police waste no time and arrest him the next day. The Boy, the one that's not a boyfriend -- Taka -- he is shaken awake by officers, naked in bed, mortified. He is innocent, he doesn't know what Mondo has done, he complies with everything he is told while Mondo spits in an officer's face. Of course he won't come peacefully. One of the pigs recognizes Taka as the grandson of the former Prime Minister. Taka's eyes drift far, far away. 

There is no closure.

03.

"Taka." He stands, he grabs him. "Holy shit." 

The briefcase Taka had been holding clatters to the ground. He goes limp in Mondo's arms before returning the hug. Against the smooth fabric of his old classmate's jacket, he mouths an inaudible question of, "Is it you?"

"How ya been? You're lookin' good, bro! Lookin' spiffy in the suit." Mondo gives a few hard pats, underestimating his strength. He releases the startled man, only to pull him into another hug. "Shit, I'm surprised you even recognized me."

"You look the same."

"Bullshit," he gives a light punch to his friend's shoulder. " _You_ look the same."

"Yeah," Taka agrees, sounding breathless. He retrieves his briefcase. 

"Where ya headed?"

"To the station," he nods toward his destination, then jerks his head ever so slightly, suppressing a tic. "I was taking the long route home."

"Can you sit for a sec?" 

"Of course."

"Do you drink?" Mondo asks without asking. "You probably don't drink."

"Rarely," Taka admits. It's easier to see him under the glowing light of the bar. His face is sharper than Mondo remembers, the red neon accentuates the angles of his face and darkens the hallows of his cheeks.

"Can I get ya somethin', anyway?" 

"I suppose so," he decides after a moment of hesitation. Mondo won't torture him with a whiskey. It's pricey, but the biker doesn't care right now. He orders the sweetest thing on the menu. "Thank you."

"Sure, handsome," it slips out of his mouth before he can stop it.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Taka seems to accept that. The bartender slides the newly mixed drink toward his second patron who takes a cautious sip. 

"It's good," he says. Without making eye contact, he says, "I think you're handsome, too."

Mondo chuckles, not because it's funny, but because he's nervous. He runs a shaky hand through his buzzed head and gulps down the remainder of his drink, shuddering as he swallows. There's too much to say. He's spent years rehearsing it in his head, but this is the real thing. He is not ready for the real thing. He is unfamiliar with resolution. 

"I, uh-" Mondo clears his throat with a harsh noise, "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Taka echoes the sentiment without missing a beat. He can't seem to return Mondo's gaze, though.

"I just got out, you know," he tries explaining. He makes a sloppy gesture. "That's why I look like shit." 

"Your sentence was ten years?"

"Nah, three years for the assault. Two for arson. I already paid for that shit." He makes it sound simple, because it kinda is, but it kinda isn't. He sighs. "This was for something else."

"I don't understand." Finally, Taka turns to him. His face becomes a mixture of shock and confusion.

"I'm a fuck up." He clicks his tongue. "What's there to understand?" 

The silence that washes over them is uncomfortable. Perhaps he became too aggressive just now. He cracks his knuckles against his thigh. 

"Sorry," he exhales. Still too quiet. He orders another drink. Taka surprises him by ordering a beer. He surprises him even more as he gulps it down like nothing. "You okay?"

Taka stares down into his empty glass. He looks like a statue, frozen in a moment, eyebrows knitted, mouth in a firm line. 

"After you were arrested," he sounds exhausted, "my parents were furious. They said you were bad news. They always said that. The police must have said something to them, too, because I- well- I didn't know what to do, I- I couldn't lie anymore. I-"

His neck jerks to the side, once, twice, in quick succession. His tics become worse when he's upset. He continues despite himself.

"They made me swear not to tell. They took me to see a- well, a doctor," his lip quivers ever so slightly. His mouth falls open on a thought, only to close as he suppresses it. He waits for Taka to finish his story, but the end never comes. Hesitantly, Mondo extends his arm, reaching to rest his hand over Taka's, to comfort him. It is an incomplete gesture, because that's when he feels it, the cold, unfamiliar metal. 

Why hadn't he noticed it before? Part of him wishes he had seen it earlier, or maybe not at all, maybe never. It shatters any illusion that Taka might still, after all this time, possibly be in love with him.

Mondo clears his throat and recedes his hand as casually as possible, as though Taka's wedding ring hadn't just crushed his fantasies. 

"How long you been married?" he asks into his drink.

"A year," Taka responds in a voice that is tired of thinking about it. He chews his bottom lip. "Almost."

"Damn," Mondo exhales with surprising emotion. It becomes something of a laugh, deep in his chest, all vibration and bitter feelings. He lies through his teeth. "That's some real shit, man. I'm happy for ya." 

"Thanks, um," Taka sounds uncomfortable, like he wants to steer the conversation away from this topic, "are you-?"

"Me? Nah," Mondo waves his hand in dismissal. "I don't even got a girl. I don't really date, ya know?"

They're both dancing around it.

Taka hesitates. He says, "Right."

They do a shot together, clink glasses and swallow. The vodka almost shoots out Mondo's nose as Taka makes a hilarious expression. He shudders and shakes his head, as if it will remedy the foul taste. Mondo cradles a cigarette between his lips, pats around for his lighter, then flicks it to life. He takes a drag, holds the smoke inside his lungs until he feels that warm, satisfying burn, and exhales. 

"You shouldn't smoke," Taka frowns.

"I shouldn't," he exhales, "but I do." He takes another drag and asks, "Where ya meet her?"

He can't decide whether to be angry at Taka or not. It's not a question of the anger being unreasonable. It's a question of _what the fuck?_

"Huh?"

"Your wife." He tries not to spit the word. _Wife._ What the fuck.

"Oh." He fiddles with his wristwatch. "We studied at the same university."

"You get your degree and everything?" It's hardly a question, because of course he did. 

"Yes." He skips right ahead and says, "I'm actually campaigning for this year's election."

"Damn, bro, look at you," he raises his glass, as if to congratulate. He wants to feel happier for him, but he can't muster it. Not between the booze and the wedding ring. "Ya gonna be the next Prime Minister or somethin'?"

"Right now, I'm running for mayor of Shinjuku."

"Hey, if anyone is qualified for that shit," he chews on an ice cube, "it's you, bro."

"Thanks," he sounds a bit unsure. After a moment, he asks, "Am I drunk?"

"Might be," Mondo snorts. "Take a walk, you'll sober up."

Mondo reaches for his wallet, but Taka stops him, fumbles through with a thick stack of bills, counting then recounting, struggling with basic math in his drunken state. Mondo hasn't had someone pay for his drinks in a long time. He is a newly free man, dirt poor and unemployed, and seeing Taka with a wallet that fat is certainly attractive. Maybe he should feel envious or less of a man for being so broke. Instead, he wishes Taka was always around to spoil him. He watches as Taka accidentally flings some cash into the air. Mondo barks out a laugh as it flutters. He helps him count. They pay, then leave.

He secures his arm around Taka's waist, mostly for support, mostly because it feels good to hold him like that. He feels Taka stumble and tightens his grip on his belt.

"Shouldn't have let ya drink that much," Mondo chides, playfully. "Figures you're a lightweight."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize, man."

Mondo suggests they make a stop at the hotel. Maybe for just an hour or so. He slides his keycard into the slot and the lock clicks open. Taka collapses onto the bed face first with a grunt. Mondo lets him rest there for a moment, kicking off his boots before leaning to pull off Taka's dress shoes. He can't imagine how tiring it must be, dressing so formal like that everyday. Taka rolls onto his back, eyes fixed to the ceiling. The bed creaks beneath Mondo's weight, as he joins his friend on the comforter. 

"I feel," he stares at the peeling beige paint, as if it will offer an answer, "loose?"

"That's 'cause you're so damn tense," Mondo hooks Taka beneath each armpit and hoists him up, manhandling him with ease. He goes stiff from the unexpected touch, fights a small battle of uncertainty. Mondo grabs his biceps and squeezes the muscle firmly, until his companion melts. "Your body ain't used to relaxin' and shit."

"That feels good," he groans, resting the back of his head against Mondo's shoulder. His breath hits Mondo's face, perfuming him with the heavy scent of alcohol. He inhales deeply, exhales shaky and slow. "You smell nice."

That hits Mondo like a jolt of electricity, travels down his spine to his groin. He feels himself go hard in an instant, but Taka doesn't comment on it, either doesn't care or doesn't notice.

This should be enough. Enough to walk Taka to the train station and jerk off to for the next week. He should have a strong moral code for these things, should feel guilty for even escalating things this far into the evening. He's jealous though, he almost feels entitled to this man, because Taka was his _first_. The goodbye was improper, the separation was forced, it was as if, although apart, they never stopped being together. Not officially. 

"You left me," Taka says suddenly, as though reading his mind. He sounds small, almost adolescent. "I was all alone."

"I'm sorry, Kiyo." His heart drops. "I fucked up."

"I was all alone," he says again, as though in a trance.

"I'm not leaving again," he promises. He runs his fingers through Taka's scalp, aiming to calm his nerves. He repeats the motion, leisurely drags his nails through the thick, black locks. Taka is trembling, he can feel it, he wipes his tears with a cracked knuckle. "Don't cry, babe."

" _Babe_ ," he repeats, like he hasn't heard that in awhile. 

"Can I call you that?" Mondo breathes against his neck. Taka trembles for a very different reason. What Mondo is about to do, he won't feel crooked for. He means to seduce a married man when he says, "You're gorgeous, you know that, right?"

"Stop," Taka sniffles, then laughs. He pushes himself from Mondo's lap, somewhat playful, somewhat serious, sensing the shift in energy.

"What?" Mondo purrs, before wrestling him flat on the mattress. Taka can't seem to register this sudden change of pace. Mondo crawls on top before Taka can blink, much less argue. When their mouths meet, the spark is instantaneous, the rekindling of an old flame. Kissing him now makes Mondo realize that nothing has felt good in ten years. No orgasm or drug or fuck compares. Taka tastes the same, beneath the alcohol he tastes like the same kid who was too shy to make out with the lights on. He follows, Mondo leads, and it's sloppy and uncoordinated until they move against each other to form a rhythm. Mondo grabs him through his dress pants.

"I don't know," Taka breaks away with a rising chest. Mondo unzips him, anyway. 

"Lemme take care of you," he grabs his dick, possessively and persuasively. 

Mondo swallows him down in a single motion. Taka surrenders with a startled sound, unsure where to place his hands, fidgeting until finally covering his own face. As drunk as he is, he is no less bashful. Mondo peers up at him, teases him with an obscene look, until Taka responds with an unhappy grumble. Mondo would laugh if his mouth wasn't so full. He hasn't blown anyone in years, had almost forgotten the sensation of his throat being stretched and used. He eases up on Taka just to come back down, as deep as possible, until his gag reflex springs tears to his eyes. It's a brutal start. If he wasn't so drunk and impatient, he might go slow, but he wants Taka twitching beneath him, and he wants it now.

Taka is easy to overstimulate. Already, he is flinching away, but Mondo only pulls him closer. It seems cruel for just a moment. Taka whines, briefly tormented, then shallowly thrusts into his partner's mouth. He isn't aggressive enough for throat fucking, never has been, Mondo can only dream of being dominated like that. He encourages Taka to thrust into his mouth more, though, to do it harder, steering him by the hips, until his head swims. He pulls away for a gulp of air, followed by a string of spit.

"Fuck," he presses a few sloppy kisses against Taka's thigh, "you're so fuckin' hot."

When Taka doesn't respond, too lost in his head, Mondo bites down on the thin flesh between his crotch and thigh. Taka yelps at the sudden pain and scrambles, nearly kicking the other in the process. Mondo doesn't let up until Taka sobs a few pathetic bubbles of defeat. It is exactly what he hoped for. It turns him on when Taka cries and with enough introspection he might discover why. Not tonight, though.

"That hurt," he snivels with a look of betrayal. It's quickly extinguished when Mondo kisses him, slowly dragging his tongue along the inside of Taka's mouth, all soft and gentle like they're still high school sweethearts.

"You liked it," Mondo murmurs against his partner's lips. He reaches between Taka's legs and wraps a careful fist around him. With a few pumps, his erection twitches back to life. He hums a praise. "Good boy."

Taka shudders at the words. It works like a charm, makes him melt into a big, needy puddle, makes him harder beneath each stroke. He hesitantly reaches for Mondo's jeans, struggles with the button, until the biker decides to help with an unoccupied hand. He presses a rough kiss into Taka's neck as his dick finally gets some attention. Then another, and another, as they begin jerking each other off. It feels a bit juvenile, like they should have outgrown this kind of sex, but it's familar, and it feels good, and Mondo could probably stay like this forever. Taka is leaking precum, Mondo smears it over the head of his cock in a circular motion, slides his thumb across the slit.

"Lemme sit on your dick," Mondo quickly proposes. He expects Taka to say no, because it's never been something in his comfort zone. He expects Taka to wake up a little, maybe remember the oath wrapped around his finger, maybe quickly redress and run home to his wife. Instead, he murmurs something about a condom. Mondo could punch himself. "I don't got one."

Taka considers this. After a long pause, he decides that's fine. Reckless behavior is uncharacteristic of him. Mondo has just come back into his life and already he's a poor influence. 

He kicks his pants off and can't strip Taka fast enough, in all his buttons and buckles. Mondo stares in open admiration, until the other man sputters a self conscious complaint. Instead of teasing him, Mondo moves along, hovers over his lap with nothing more than precum and saliva. He'll probably tear. He almost wants to. He wants Taka to rip him open, make him bleed, remind him that he's human. He could die any second, any day. He wants to know that. He sinks, careful not to crush the man beneath him.

"Oh, fuck," Mondo gasps, between pain and arousal. "Fuck, you're so good, you're so fuckin' good, don't move yet, _oh, fuck_ -"

Taka speaks in an incoherent slew of syllables. Although his words are lost, the intent is clear, as his eyes screw shut and he throws his head back.

" _No, no, no-_ " Mondo chants gently, grabs the side of his face, reels him back. "Not yet, baby. Please. You feel so fuckin' good inside me right now."

He waits for Taka to make the next move, tries not to be impatient or roll his hips or do anything that may cause an early end. A soft noise escapes him as Taka joins their hands together, like what they're doing is okay when it's not. Mondo dismisses the thought. He only cares about right now, about the way Taka is making him feel, how, with a simple gesture, he can feel undone like this. Mondo feels more red in the face by the hand holding than he does by any kind of penetration. He gives Taka an appreciative kiss as the man finally begins fucking him. The pace is slow and measured and normally that might aggravate Mondo, but he truly cannot complain, because Taka is the only person he's ever wanted. Taka is a timid guy; of course the sex is going to be vanilla. Mondo disrupts the balance, presses down and meets his partner halfway on a thrust. He takes Taka by surprise, who answers with a loud groan. 

"S-Sorry," he flusters, separating their hands to cover his face. His mouth twitches with newfound distress and Mondo finds it cute. "That was loud."

"It was sexy," Mondo chuckles. He lifts his hips then slides back down. "Want me to fuck you like that?"

"Yeah-h," he forgets to breathe. His mouth falls open as tight heat engulfs him.

Mondo fucks him without mercy. Loses himself on the ache of his thighs and the buzz of his head. He watches as Taka's face twists in pleasure, as his voice shamelessly raises an octave. Mondo keeps his own volume in check, just so he can hear it. He doesn't bother touching himself, just swallows up every inch, fills himself to the brim again and again. Euphoria makes his brain sizzle like white, hot firecrackers. It startles him when Taka comes, it happens too soon, but he groans his appreciation all the same, grounds his hips, drinks it up. 

"You did that." He guides Taka's fingers between his legs, where he is wet and used. They slip inside with a squelch. Mondo loves the obscenity of it, but Taka thinks quite the opposite. 

"I'm embarrassed." He looks away, face burning at the thought. His neck snaps to one direction, recoils, then snaps again, somewhat violently, like he had been suppressing it. 

Mondo rolls onto his back and stares at the blank ceiling until Taka comes into view. A few pieces of hair stick to his damp forehead. Mondo slicks them back, smooths them down. 

"You look good on top." He laughs as Taka's face goes red again. He's too easy. As though in revenge, Taka pulls Mondo's knees to his chest, exposing him fully. Mondo feels his dick twitch at the sudden display of dominance.

"I think you look better like this," Taka hums. Even though he looks so powerful, with his firm stomach and strong jaw, he maintains a soft edge. When he presses inside, Mondo cries out, with an anguish and a want.

-03.

Daiya didn't bring a lot of girls around. He messed with a lot, he was a handsome guy and chicks liked a bad boy, sure, but most weren't invited over. Which wasn't to say it _never_ happened, because sometimes it did, sometimes Mondo walked into the kitchen at 3am to find some chick in his bro's shirt, quietly raiding the cabinets. He pretended not to hear the thumping and moans that emitted from Daiya's bedroom some nights. He never made a complaint, he never rolled his eyes or banged on his brother's door, no matter how awkward it got. He had no room to complain when he was bringing Taka home on a nightly basis. 

Late one night, Taka had shifted beside Mondo; a particularly noisy girl in the neighboring room had woken him. Mondo had been passively listening, mostly unbothered, mostly because he was getting to an age where he could accept his brother was a human with needs. Taka sighed into Mondo's ear then whispered a secret.

He said, "I wish I was born a girl."

When Mondo asked why, he said, "So we could get married and have kids."

In the morning, they were both startled awake by a door slamming and a growing argument. Taka collected his belongings faster than anything, terrified of conflict, brushing his way past Daiya and the girl he'd been screwing only hours ago. With much less than a goodbye, he had fled the apartment with a bedhead and overflowing bag of notebooks, leaving a confused Mondo to investigate alone. 

"Fuck you!" the girl howled. She slammed her hands against Daiya's chest and pushed. Instinctively, Mondo grabbed her and she thrashed before spitting in his eye. "Fuck you and your faggot brother."

Daiya had never looked that scary before. He wordlessly yanked the girl from the scalp of her hair then walked her out the front door. She threatened to call the authorities; nothing came of it. 

Daiya had defended him, in a sense. Maybe. He never really knew. He never felt sure.

Later at school, Taka said some kid with a wandering eye got punched in the boy's locker room.

04.

He wakes up with a sour stomach and a numb arm. Taka is deadweight in his sleep and Mondo slowly frees himself, careful not to disturb his partner. His arm uncomfortably tingles back to life. The biker blindly paws at the side of the bed until his hand knocks against the fallen clock. It twirls lazily as he lifts it by the wire, until glaring in his direction.

**_3:16 AM._ **

The bed creaks as he settles beside Taka, stomach pressed against his back, knee wedged between his legs. It's surreal to be in bed with a warm body, even more surreal considering who it is. Mondo runs a hand down the sleeping man's chest, from his firm stomach to his coarse pubic hair. He feels lower, strokes him a few times and earns a sleepy groan. 

"Can I finger you?" Mondo asks in a voice gruff from sleep. Taka nods in slow response, barely awake. Mondo nips him in the neck and asks again. A second, somewhat enthused nod is enough to convince him. He massages him open, fingers slick with spit, then slides inside. Taka whines, low and long, arousal twitching to life.

Mondo wants this all the time. Taka feels perfect in his arms, he fits like a puzzle piece. Mondo carefully joins a second finger and he is tight, so incredibly tight. Too tired to restrain himself, Taka moans, trapped between pleasure and discomfort. He hisses out a _yes_ and a _please_ and a _deeper_. Mondo hooks his fingers, hits exactly the right spot, and can't help smiling as Taka trembles and drools. He pulls out, then plunges inside again with a slight twisting motion, as deep as he can go. He does this until Taka can't seem to shut up, until his moans begin to sound wet, and desperate, and raw. When Mondo leans to kiss the side of his face, he tastes salt. Taka sniffles and begins to sob, in a way that makes Mondo hesitate. He almost stops completely, but Taka reaches for his wrist, encourages him to continue, and so he does. 

"I love you," he gasps on the brink of orgasm. He says it with a swollen heart and a guilty conscience. "I love you, I love you, _I love you."_

Mondo hits his prostate a final time before he goes silent, spilling over with a full body convulsion. His tics manifest all at once. When the tremors subside, Taka is a limp bag of bones, asleep once again before Mondo can finish wiping him clean. He blinks and loses most of an hour. He knocks something with his foot.

A soft, blue glow emits from beneath the tangled blanket. It's Taka's cellphone. Mondo quirks a brow before untangling the mess of fabric to recover it. It's locked with a passcode and that should be indication enough not to meddle. The notification for _12 missed calls_ grabs his attention, though. That, and the most recent text message, received about an hour ago at 3:09 AM, from _Jun_. Mondo has one guess on who that might be. 

Taka isn't that creative. The passcode has to be a significant date, like his birthday. When that doesn't work, Mondo tries the day of their high school graduation. No dice. It has to be the date of his wedding, then. He figures most couples are married in the summer and plugs a few educated guesses before the phone threatens to lock. He should leave it be. On a whim, he enters his own birthday. He is granted access.

A strange wave of euphoria washes over him. Before he can bask in it, the string of unanswered text messages unfolds. He previews them, leaving them unopened as he scrolls. 

**JUN** 3:09 AM

_i'm home. i'm going to call the police in the morning. i hope you're safe and i'm just overreacting. i love you._

**JUN** 2:38 AM

_i dont know where else to look for you_

**JUN** 12:29 AM

_i really need to know if youre okay_

**JUN** 12:04 AM

_i went to your office i thought maybe you fell asleep at your desk_

**JUN** 11:14 PM

_please answer_

**JUN** 10:54 PM

_hello???_

**JUN** 10:29 PM

_Is your phone off?_

**JUN** 10:22 PM

_Please pick up._

**JUN** 9:41 PM

_Did something happen? I'm starting to worry…_

**JUN** 9:15 PM

_Are you with your parents?_

**JUN** 9:12 PM

_Hello?_

**JUN** 8:45 PM

_It's getting late so I put your dinner away._

**JUN** 7:58 PM

_Will you be home soon? Text me! xoxo_

"Fuck," he says to no one in particular. There's a lump in his throat and he can't seem to swallow it.

He is past the point of no return. With a tap, he opens the photo gallery. Taka has a boring life. It's mostly pictures with colleagues and a few places he must frequent. Then there are the photos of him and Jun, his wife. Her hair is long and dark and her doe-like eyes suggest vulnerability. There is a shot of her across a table, utensil in hand, shyly acknowledging the camera. Then several more, each a different cafe, a different dessert, a different way she giggles in the picture. It makes sense that Taka would choose a girl like this. She seems innocent. She seems good.

There is a photo of them from an upward angle, Jun holding the phone with one hand and holding Taka with the other. He is topless and she is curled against him on what looks to be their bed. His face is somewhat hidden, mouth buried against the side of her neck. The disheveled blankets and lax expression on her face are indicative of something. They definitely fucked before snapping this. Knowing that has Mondo feeling a certain way. The simple domesticity they present, the way her ring finger glints in the photo, replaces his heartbeat with a pang of jealousy. 

The phone rings.

Taka springs up before Mondo can find a convincing place to ditch it. He lets it fall out his hands as Taka gives him a bewildered look, scrambling for the cellphone. His eyebrows furrow when he sees the caller ID. When he accepts the call, a woman's voice crackles through the other end. In an unsure tone, she says his name. 

"I'm so sorry," he apologizes with wide, panicked eyes. At the sound of his voice, like the switch of a light, his wife begins to cry. Taka anxiously smooths down his hair, then jerks his head to the side, twice with his usual urge. "I'll be home soon, okay? I'll explain when I'm there."

Mondo detaches himself from the situation, steps out of bed - Taka shoots him an unkind look as the bed creaks in his departure - and into the bathroom. He avoids the mirror, sure he'll smash it to pieces if he catches even the faintest glimpse of himself, then starts the shower. The steam rolls off his red skin. He stands there for somewhere between five minutes and a millennia. With a firm twist, the water stops and he grabs a towel. 

When he opens the door, he finds a fully dressed Taka, finishing the knot of his tie, looking surprisingly decent despite everything. The air is thicker now than before. Mondo stands in the door frame, hoping Taka might break the silence first. When he doesn't, when he grabs his briefcase instead, Mondo panics.

"Kiyo, I-" he stumbles with a heavy tongue. "I don't know what to say, man."

"Then don't," Taka suggests. His face has never looked paler.

Mondo scoffs. He stares at the silver band on Taka's hand and scoffs. 

"I would have waited forever, ya know." He can't help but feel betrayed. "I would have waited for you."

Taka turns to him, eyes harsh and red.

"I didn't know if you were ever coming back." Taka clutches the rounded corners of his briefcase. "Did you expect me to know?"

"You damn well weren't lookin' for me." He grabs his clothes, where Taka has politely and unnecessarily folded them on the foot of the bed. 

"How was I supposed to find you? You've been in and out of prison since we were 18."

There is only the faintest hint of judgment when Taka says that, but it's enough to piss Mondo off. He is tired of being the only one responsible. He is the only one paying for it. Until he finds a cold corner to curl up and die in, he will always pay. 

"Oh, so I'm the only one that's guilty?" he snarls, pulls up his pants. "You're the fag that married a woman."

Taka's face twists into an expression of pain and confusion. He looks at Mondo like he just drove a stake through his chest. Wounded, he says, "Don't call me that."

"At least I know who the fuck I am!" Mondo barks, like a fearful dog in warning. Like a dog that chews its own foot raw, and chews, and chews, and chews. "You're lying to yourself. God, your poor fuckin' wife. What's the sex like, huh? Do you fuck her from behind so you don't gotta see her tits?"

"Why are you talking to me like this?" Taka asks, rightfully agitated. "I'm trying to do everything right. I'm trying to be- I'm just trying to be good."

Mondo grabs his wrist, says, "Man, just listen-"

"Please, don't touch me."

"Babe, look at me, come on," Mondo pulls him closer, pulls him into a hug that is refused, "last night was good, wasn't it? It could be like that all the time. Just us. It feels right when we're together."

He tries kissing him. The more Taka resists, the angrier he becomes. The more Taka resists, the more he wants him.

"I can't, you know I can't-" he is silenced as their lips finally connect. Mondo expects a slap that never comes, because Taka is a pacifist, he is accommodating, so he allows the kiss, gently rolls his tongue against Mondo's, sates him with a false promise, then crushes it, "We can be friends, Mondo. We just can't- we can't be- we can't be _this_."

"What's wrong with this?" Mondo huffs. "Fuck your marriage. If it wasn't me, it was gonna be some other guy. I'm right and you know it."

"I need to leave," Taka deflects. He completely disregards. Mondo has him only by the sleeve of his blazer and absently, he thinks, he might break his arm if it meant he'd stay.

"You're all I fuckin' want," he pleads. Maybe if he begs, he can have him. He was okay with being alone, he survived it - the years of solitude. He had convinced himself he could live like that, never needing anyone, but Taka crumbles that resolve. 

"I could see how much pain you were in after Daiya passed," Taka says like a hard reset. "You never cried for him, I thought maybe one day you would, but you never did, so I cried for you. I never blamed you for being arrested or anything that happened after."

"What?" He loosens his grip.

"If Daiya were still here, both our lives would be different. Or maybe they wouldn't. Maybe it would still have happened exactly like this. There's- there's just no way of knowing," he rationalizes. "I think everything happens for a reason, Mondo."

He hates hearing Daiya's name almost as much as he hates discussing him. So much as a mention threatens to pop a blood vessel. He doesn't want to talk about this.

"My brother didn't die for a _reason_. His death wasn't some, I dunno, part of some bigger plot," Mondo fumes. "And you don't get to fuckin' talk about him, alright?"

"You know I'm sorry about Daiya. I am so sorry, Mondo. I need you to understand, though, I-" he struggles to maintain his composure. Taka is reasonable. Just like the old days, he is the realistic one, speaking realism into semi-permanence. He is struggling for neutrality. With a brisk shake of his head, he continues, "I love my wife and my job. I like the direction my life is headed. I've worked hard for these things."

"And I mess that all up, right? I fuck you and ruin your marriage and give you bad publicity. I'm a fuckin' nuisance, right? Tell me I'm wrong." He fumbles for the cigarettes inside his jacket, beats the pack, but nothing slides out. "One day you're gonna be an old fuck with kids and shit and you're gonna fuck up, because you're not perfect. You're gonna fuck up and they'll know you're a fag that cheated on mom and they're gonna hate you. _Where the fuck is my lighter?_ "

"Calm down," Taka tries, he always tries. "Please."

He takes a dangerous step toward Taka, who flinches, but refuses to back away. He could run now, has every excuse to, but his feet are planted. Mondo chews the end of his unlit cigarette, the paper sticky inside his mouth. It tastes like shit.

"I fuckin' hate you. Shut up," he interrupts Taka with a raised hand. "I do, I fuckin' hate you. You're self serving, you only care about appearances and shit. It was convenient for you when I got arrested. You could pretend to be normal without me there. Was I just a phase for you?"

"No! It was never like that," Taka feverishly disagrees, alarmed by the implication. There is a noise that won't stop, it is loud and repetitive. Mondo can't discern what it is, until he realizes it's himself, fighting for air. "Please breathe, Mondo. You're scaring me."

Mondo sees the reflection in Taka's glossy eyes. He looks terrible and terrifying and nothing like his brother. Daiya never had a temper like him, he could deescalate most situations, not with the most grace, or the most class, but he could deescalate. When Mondo picked at his scabs, Daiya batted his hand away. _Just let it heal._ When Mondo toyed with his stitches, Daiya snatched his wrist. _Just let it heal._ Why does he reopen old wounds? Why does he feel the need? He sees the reflection of himself and crumbles.

He doesn't like this person.

His knees buckle, he thinks the floor will catch him, but Taka does first, catching him right on time. Mondo wails into his arms. He isn't sure who he's crying for. Maybe it's for the-him-that-never-learned. Or maybe - finally - it's for poor, dead Daiya. Taka holds no grudge, holds him through it, like he once held him through the flashbacks, and the nightmares. How he held him for as long as possible, until they were physically ripped apart.

He doesn't like this person.

-04.

After the funeral, someone rested a palm on Mondo's shoulder and said, "One day, you'll be together again."

It was meant to be comforting. The illusion that Daiya existed somewhere beyond the mortal plane, simply waiting for a reunion. Instead of relief, he felt anger. There was no real promise, no guarantee that Mondo would ever see his brother again, certainly not in life, but especially not in death. He was cynically-positively-irrefutably-sure that it would never happen. Not because religion couldn't be important, not because spirituality was bogus, but because-

Because why would the universe spare a single shred of decency in allowing Mondo Oowada to forget the sight of his dead brother's face? 

Grief comes in waves. It vanishes for days on end, sometimes months, maybe years, before it comes crashing back, only to recoil to its source. To thrash is to drown. To accept is to float. Mondo thrashes. The salt water floods his mouth and his lungs are heavy, swollen anchors, pulling him down. It is uncomfortable to out age his brother, it is devastating to think that Daiya never had the chance to be 28 years old. Mondo has outgrown him and it is unfair.

Healing is difficult. It's easier to punish himself with cigarettes and alcohol and meaningless sex. It's easy to be irresponsible without a guardian angel, knowing Daiya isn't watching, knowing that Daiya isn't doing anything, Daiya is dead, he is nowhere and everywhere, all at once. Maybe he can find solace in that. Maybe there is solace in absence. Maybe there is peace that accompanies it. 

_One_ _day, you'll be together again._ Maybe he had misinterpreted that. Maybe what it really meant was, that _one day, you will be whole again. You will be human again. You will survive. You, all your pieces, will be joined together once more._

Kiyotaka says, "One day, you'll be together again."

05.

"I'm going to tell her." There is a crack in the curtains, a sliver of sunlight hits the side of Taka's face, illuminating a small piece of him. "I have to."

Mondo is still on the floor. It feels like the safest place, so he stays there. Taka has found haven in the corner of the room, needing security of his own. 

"You gonna say it was a woman?"

"No," Taka decides. "The whole truth."

Kiyotaka is a strong person. Much stronger than anyone may ever give him credit for. Mondo sees it.

"You think she's gonna walk out?"

Taka considers this. The AC kicks on and the curtains sway. That beam of light on Taka's face dances gently across his skin.

"I don't believe so. She'll want to make it work."

After a beat, Mondo asks, "Do you wanna make it work?"

"I haven't decided." He twists the band on his finger.

"Big decision." 

Mondo lifts himself off the carpet, then peeks between the curtains before sliding them open, turning the room from dark to light in an instant.

"I love her, but not the same way I love you." Mondo turns when he says that. "The marriage feels more like a project. The sex feels," his mouth twitches, "mandatory." 

"That why you come so fast?" he deadpans.

Taka sputters, before pointing an accusatory finger in Mondo's face. 

"You're obscene!"

"Aw, don't be shy." He grabs Taka and murmurs into his ear, "It was kinda hot, to be honest."

"Okay, enough," Taka squirms. His face contorts, then his neck jerks. He tries pulling away, without success. "Mondo, I'm serious."

"I hear you," he rolls his eyes. He let's go for a moment, before recapturing him in a hug. He sighs wistfully, "Your wife is so lucky. I wish I could wait for you to come home from your big, important job, then get fucked into the mattress by your big-"

"Okay, you've said enough!"

Mondo steps away, raising both arms defensively. For a moment, he believes Taka is genuinely offended, but his expression softens.

"I'm gonna respect your decision. Whatever you decide to do, okay?" Mondo shoves his hands into his pocket and stares out the window. "I'm not gonna get busted for stupid shit anymore. I'm gonna get a real job, be a carpenter or something. Then I'll build a house, somewhere out in the country where it's quiet and I can't make mistakes."

"If that's what you really want," Taka replies, distantly hopeful, "then you should do it. I think Daiya would like that for you."

"I never told him I was gay, ya know? He knew, but I never said it to him." Outside, the sky is orange, a thousand separate hues his brain can't recognize. "He, I dunno, he was so shocked. He didn't know how to respond to it."

"He let you see me," Taka hums in quiet remembrance. "My parents never would have allowed that. I think he supported you by giving you space. It may not have been the best response, but it may have been all he knew." 

His mind opens to the thought. It doesn't erase or rewrite history, but it's a new idea, one he hasn't allowed himself to consider. When Taka says it, it seems true. Mondo wants to believe it, so he does, with an ounce of his flesh and a teaspoon of blood. Small steps, small comforts.

"I just wish he would have told me it was _okay_. I wish I would have heard it from him. That's all I needed."

There is a mournful look in Taka's face. Who could understand it better? Mondo takes Taka by the hand and drops to one knee.

"If no one told you it was okay yet," he swears with his heavy heart, "then it's okay, Kiyotaka."

In the end, nothing ends. He lights his second cigarette of the day and the tobacco is bitter, the paper is burnt, the smell is awful, like the smell of old gasoline trickling onto the street. He accompanies Taka to the station and sees him off with a gentle nudge of the shoulder, before his old friend vanishes into a crowd of suits. He rests his back against a wall, watches as people pass, as the train departs, as patrol officers glare from a distance. With the heel of his boot, he snuffs out his unfinished cigarette.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [gone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25695835) by [katotastic000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katotastic000/pseuds/katotastic000)
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